


Liquid Gold

by rawnbones4 (iKain2)



Series: Hearth and Home: Domestic Viking Husbands [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Minor Spoilers for Oxenfordscire and Sciropescire Arcs, Nobody Likes Dag, Not Beta Read, Sad Drunk Eivor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27658007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iKain2/pseuds/rawnbones4
Summary: After a rousing night of feasting on the spoils of yet another successful raid, Tarben goes to collect his lover and put him to bed. However, he finds the man troubled with his thoughts.
Relationships: Eivor/Tarben (Assassin's Creed), Male Eivor/Tarben (Assassin's Creed)
Series: Hearth and Home: Domestic Viking Husbands [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021420
Comments: 7
Kudos: 111





	Liquid Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Eivor’s drunk staggering after he destroys an entire cask of alcohol to win a measly 200 silver is always hilarious, even more so when you’re in the middle of hostile territory. The fact that Eivor can just walk it off and goes back to his normal self killing enemies with no problem in like 10 seconds is crazy if you think about it.
> 
> Oxenfordscire and Sciropescire arcs (and what follows after) made me so sad/mad/both at the same time, thanks Ubisoft.
> 
> Also: I can see Eivor taming a certain bird from Vinland and bringing it back. That is all.

After a few grand hours of feasting and merriment as Ravensthorpe celebrated the high of yet another successful raid resulting in a full boat of raw materials, Tarben stepped over no less than twelve snoring warriors on the floor as he glanced about the stifling hot room. He’d put in innumerable hours in baking over the past few days to ensure that there would be plenty of bread to accompany the post-raid celebrations. Given that there was hardly any food left on the tables, his efforts were whole-heartedly appreciated.

Though the Jarl’s seat lay empty and untouched, right next to it were several barrels of Tekla’s mead stacked haphazardly. The baker’s eyes caught the trail of emptied barrels that were turned over on their sides and completely emptied of their potent contents before he finally found who he was looking for.

A few feet away from the doorway of Eivor’s room was a makeshift drinking contest area with six viking warriors – he’d recognized them as the ones that often accompanied Eivor out on the longboat – all slumped against each other on the floor, ruddy-faced as they snored away their drunken stupor. A large and heavy wooden container sat in the center of this mess of bodies, upon which his lover was slumped against. His arms were wrapped around the drinking bucket as if it was the only thing keeping him mostly steady on his knees.

“There you are, love.” Tarben stepped around the pile of sleeping warriors, careful to avoid trampling on fingers or toes. He eyed the man’s messy braids and beard with a fond smile – there were a few flowers woven into his hair, no doubt the work of Knud, Sylvi, and Eira before the feast. “Did you win?”

“Tarben, issat you?” Eivor squinted blearily up at Tarben before his face lit up with a wide smile, his cheeks flushed from so much drink as he struggled to pull himself to his feet. He made it about halfway before giving up and grabbing onto the baker’s tunic, nearly tripping over his own feet. “I bested five—no, six! I’m… ergh—the best at… drink… drinking…. ooh, you’re warm—”

Tarben grabbed one of Eivor’s arms to help steady the man. One glance at the empty container confirmed his suspicions. Not only did Eivor outlast six other warriors with their drinking contest, but he had also taken the opportunity to down what remained in the entire cask afterwards. It was only likely through sheer force of stubbornness that the man was even conscious by this point.

“Alright, to bed then. Gods only know if you’re going to be able to walk tomorrow, after drinking all of Tekla’s mead.”

“Bed… sounds good…” Eivor hiccupped midway through his slurred attempts at speech, doing very little of the walking himself as he was more-or-less dragged (gently) towards his room.

Tarben brushed aside the door covering, fully intending to tuck in his lover and then return home to prepare food for the many warriors that would undoubtedly be incredibly hungover and hungry tomorrow morning. The sight of a massive wolf-dog, a fluffy white cat, a skinny fox, a raven, and a strange overgrown chicken all curled up together on the bed on Eivor’s bed gave him pause.

“Dwolfg! Nali!” Eivor flapped a hand at the pile of animals, barely keeping his balance. Tarben had use both hands this time to hoist the man up before he fell over completely. “That’s my bed!”

The wolf-dog lazily opened an eye, yawned to show several sharp teeth while staring straight at Tarben, and then went back to sleep, dismissing the two men entirely. From her comfortable spot between Dwolfg and the slumbering white cat, Synin ruffled her feathers and then tucked herself back in the pile, grooming the overgrown chicken’s larger brown plumage.

“Traitor…” Eivor slurred, pointing an accusing finger Synin. “Next… next you’ll tell me it’s—it was all Dandy’s idea… or the turkey's…”

The fox’s ears flipped up at the sound of her name and a pink tongue flicked out for a moment before she settled back down, blinking sleepily. The so-far nameless overgrown chicken (from Vinland apparently – he vaguely recalled an off-handed mention of these strange flightless birds that Eivor ran into when recounting his adventure through unfamiliar territory in search for Gorm) made some sort of low clicking-croaking noise before tucking his head back down, entirely uninterested.

“Well, love, it looks like your bed has already been claimed.” Tarben raised an eyebrow at the menagerie of creatures that he had no intention of shooing away this late into the night. “Do you think you can make it back to my home?”

“Has… has the floor always—ergh—been this… spinny…”

“I will take that as a no.” With minimal flailing, Tarben managed to hoist Eivor up into his arms, ale-splattered armor and all, and started walking towards the path.

After a few failed attempts, the warrior managed to wrap his arms around the baker’s neck, nuzzling there and hiccupping softly. “Did—did I ever… tell you that on Sigurd and Randvi’s wedding night, he and I… we got so drunk that we climbed to the top of the longhouse… in Norway?”

“Really, love?” The night was chilly as usual, but with most of Ravensthorpe already sleeping in their homes or still celebrating, there was almost no one outside save for perhaps a handful of warriors keeping watch around the settlement. Tarben smiled at one of them as he passed by Yanli’s trading post and received a wave in response. “You, I can imagine. But Sigurd? Really?”

“Randvi… found us just before the ceremony… he’d rolled off the side but his pants got caught on the roof. I gave him mine, but they were too short. I convic… conv… talked a fisherman into lending me a pair, but they... they were too long. We… we looked so silly, that night.” Eivor’s breathy laugh was quiet as he pressed his forehead down against his shoulder. If Tarben hadn’t already been paying attention, he would have missed the low whisper against his throat, barely audible over the rustling of the leaves. “What happened to us?”

It was no secret that something had happened when Eivor came home after Oxenfordscire without Sigurd, shoulders drawn low and with a look so lost it physically pained Tarben to see it from where he had been standing by the docks. Not long after that, after Eivor had returned from Sciropescire, Tarben could only guess at what stroke of misfortune had dogged his heels there to make the man look like he had stared death in the face twofold. Now, a few months later and with spring finally cresting over Ravensthorpe, the lively gleam in his lover’s eyes finally began to return in small bits and pieces.

The doorway of Tarben’s bakery was within sight now, and as he crossed the threshold with Eivor in his hold, the warmth of the hearth was certainly welcome. He all but poured the warrior into his bed, taking care to set aside his weapons and boots first. The cloak came off next, hanging it on the hook by the bedside table. By the time Tarben tugged off the man’s tunic and trousers, he looked to be about a few blinks away from falling asleep.

As Tarben took a step back to set aside the rest of Eivor’s clothes, a hand grasped at the fabric of his pants.

“Stay with me.” Eivor’s eyes looked so pale in the light of the fire – the color like the frigid waters of icy lands far north. Tarben could hardly imagine himself ever saying no when pinned by his lover’s gaze, no less intense despite how much he’d had to drink tonight.

Smiling gently, Tarben leaned over to pick out the flowers that the children had weaved into Eivor’s hair, placing those on the table with care so they wouldn’t be crushed. “Sleep, love. I’ll be here.”

For a few more minutes, Tarben puttered about, making sure that everything was ready for the next day and that the door was closed properly to keep out the draft. After arranging Eivor’s weapons on the table and folding up his armor, the baker prepared himself for bed as well, sliding in behind his lover, pulling up the blanket, and wrapping his arms around him.

Immediately, Eivor’s fingers went to intertwine with his. The man turned around in his hold, cheeks still flushed from the cold and ale, but his expression was so serious it was impossible to tell if it was the strength of the drink that was making him bolder than usual or if he was just so hurt by recent events that it could no longer be hidden even with the haze of alcohol.

“I made a promise, a long time ago.” This time, Eivor’s words were soft but clear, audible over the crackling of the fire.

“What was the promise?” With his free hand, Tarben pressed slow circles against the other man’s hip, hoping to provide some measure of comfort to the internal strife that his lover was warring with inside himself.

“I promised to be an anchor… and a better half. Not just to Sigurd, but to our people.” Eivor exhaled slowly, his breath hitching minutely. “I’m starting to think that I haven’t kept my promise.”

“What makes you think that? All around us, I see happy and healthy faces, love. Ravensthorpe is thriving. It will only be a matter of time before those we are missing find their way home.” As he spoke, Tarben stroked what he hoped was a soothing line up and down Eivor’s spine. He could feel a few newer scars along the man’s skin, which worried him endlessly; whoever was in charge of watching his back was not doing a good job of it, and he had an inkling who.

After a long moment, in which Tarben thought Eivor had fallen asleep, he finally got a response.

“Dag said that I was wrong not to go and try to find Sigurd as soon as possible, and that all my running about England to look for alliances meant that I left the settlement to handle things on its own. But Ceolbert needed me, and I have not heard from Basim yet… maybe if I did not go, would things have gone differently? Would they have gone better if I had not stepped in? What would Sigurd have done, I wonder sometimes…”

Tarben had only one thing to say to that – from the day he’d settled in Ravensthorpe, he’d only had one unchanging impression of Dag-the-warrior, Sigurd’s oldest and best friend, and it was the following:

“Dag can go fuck himself. He’s sour that you’re doing a better job that he would have, had he been in charge.”

Eivor turned his head slightly, staring incredulously at Tarben. “I’ve not heard you spit like that about someone before. Has he said something to you?”

“He is not someone who would listen to the words coming out of own his mouth before raising his axe. I truly cannot stand people like him.” Tarben took the opportunity to draw Eivor in for a brief kiss, hoping to allay his fears for a moment, at the very least. “Know that I see you as my better half, always and until the end of my days.”

Eivor’s expression became unreadable as he unlaced their fingers so that he could reach out and cup the side of Tarben’s face. After a moment, he drew him in for another kiss, this time with more than enough tongue that Tarben could taste the honeyed mead lingering in his mouth.

When they parted, Eivor spoke against his lips. “I find myself always drifting back to these moments when I am far away, craving honest words and the warmth of your touch.”

“You are home, love.” Tarben shifted on top of Eivor, their legs sliding together as he leaned in to kiss away what shadows he could find hiding within his lover’s body. “Let me be your anchor, then.”

Pressing his lips against the tattooed skin above Eivor’s heart, Tarben could feel the sigh that the other man let out, the weight on his shoulders lifting just a little as he melted into his embrace.

They would weather whatever storm that comes, together.


End file.
